


Pose: Reprise

by FestiveFerret



Series: Held [35]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Commands, Dom/sub, Improper Use of Cameras, M/M, Photographs, Sexting, Sexy Waiting, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: Tony sidled up to where Steve leaned against the kitchen counter. “Want to be good for me today?”





	Pose: Reprise

“I have to be at the office all day for a bunch of meetings.” Tony sidled up to where Steve leaned against the kitchen counter. “Want to be good for me today?” His voice was low and full of promise and a little thrill curled through Steve’s stomach.

“Yes, Tony.”

Tony eyes snapped to his, and the charge Steve saw there halted his breath halfway out of his lungs. “Take and text me one picture every hour, on the hour, until I come home. They can be of anything, but don’t miss one and don’t be late.”

Steve nodded, then smiled, a thousand ideas for pictures he could take swirling through his head. “If I’m good will you send one back?” he teased, feeling giddy.

Tony grinned like a hungry shark and leaned in until his lips nearly touched Steve’s ear. His hand came up to circle Steve’s throat where the collar usually lay. “If you’re good, I’ll let you send me more.”

Steve shivered, a spike of anticipation twisting his giddiness into something more depraved. He couldn’t wait to be good for Tony, but he also loved knowing Tony would be thinking about him while they were apart. He would do anything for Tony, any time he asked, regardless of who was around or what they were doing, even if they were miles apart; they both knew it. Tony pressed his lips to Steve’s and whisked out of the room, already typing furiously on his work phone. Steve swallowed a few times, staring at the empty door Tony had disappeared through.

A picture every hour… It was 8:30 now, Tony would probably be home around 7. That meant 11 pictures throughout the day and he had half an hour to decide on the first one. Steve was suddenly struck with stagefright, remembering how awkward he’d felt in front of the camera the first time Tony had taken his picture. They’d sent things to each other since then, of course, some naughty, some not, but this game put a new kind of pressure on it. 

Steve set his phone to chime at two minutes to the hour, for the rest of the day, so he wouldn’t miss one. By the time 9am rolled around, the only thing he could think to send was a selfie of him sipping coffee from Tony’s favourite mug. It somehow didn’t feel like enough, but Tony had said they could be of anything, and surely it was better than a blurry shot of their toaster. He attached the pic to an empty text and hit send.

He didn’t realize he was waiting for a reply until five minutes had passed during which he’d done nothing but sit and drink his coffee, staring at his phone. No reply came. Well, Tony had said he was in meetings all day; that hadn’t stopped him in the past, but there was no point in hanging around waiting.

Determined to get on with his day, Steve headed down to the gym but found it hard to focus, his mind constantly wandering back to Tony’s challenge. When 10am rolled around, he’d still had no reply and was partway through a jog on the treadmill. He used to get out and run around the city in the morning, but Tony had a habit of keeping him in bed well past his usual 5am, and it was sweltering out by this time. Even Captain America would be a puddle of sweat trying to run in this weather. When the alarm went off he snapped a picture of the treadmill’s LCD display, smiling at the idea of Tony looking at the numbers and calculating just how much Steve’s shirt would be sticking to his back, but not getting to see.

The next alarm found him in the pool, cooling off. He heard it going off as he propelled himself through the water, and he stopped abruptly and paddled to the edge. Steve settled on another selfie but fumbled the phone with his wet hands. The result was a surprisingly in-focus shot of his chest, drops of water glistening on his skin. He flushed looking at it, remembering the pictures Tony liked to take of his back, his arms, his abs. After wrestling briefly with indecision, the clock turning over to 11am made his mind up for him and he sent the photo quickly before he was late.

As soon as it was sent, his face heated and he dunked underwater to cool it off again. Steve was sure that would be the shot that would elicit a reply from Tony. It was the kind of objectification Tony was always trying to draw out of him. “You’re hot as fuck, Steve. Own it.” But time dragged on, and Tony remained silent.

Steve checked his phone five times in the next hour to make absolutely sure he hadn’t accidentally sent the photos to someone else.

Noon’s pic was his sandwich, half-eaten, the plate next to his open book. 1pm was a stack of after-action reports from the team that he was editing before sending to Hill. If Clint used the word “awesome” one more time in his write-ups he was going to make him go into battle in an actual bird costume.

At 1:30 his phone chimed, and he snatched it up, embarrassing himself with his eagerness, only to sigh when he saw it was a text from Natasha. A shot of Clint and Bucky on the range, clearly arguing over something, with an attached happy face. He sent back a smile of his own, though, in actuality, he had to admit he was pouting. He was happy Buck was having fun, but all he could think about was Tony.

By 1:45 and no reply from Tony, Steve was starting to get irritated. He shoved his work aside and took his book out onto the penthouse balcony. The sun was brilliant and a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He stretched out on a lounge chair and tipped his chin towards the sky, letting the sun warm his skin. Riled up by half a day of rollercoastering arousal and frustration, Steve was struck by an idea. Tony loved watching Steve stretched out naked in the sun on their vacation, maybe he should give him a taste…

His shirt hit the floor, followed by his pants. He left his underwear on, but if he aimed carefully, Tony would never know. It took four tries to get a shot he liked, but when the alarm went off for 2pm, he was ready. The image he chose was his long legs, bare and glistening in the blinding light, the camera aimed high enough up his thighs to give a hint of what you might find if you moved up further.

The picture sent, Steve worked his thumbnail between his teeth nervously. He scrolled through the series of texts - his day in pictures and nothing back from the recipient. Tony was playing with him, it’s not like he was unaware, but it still got him worked up and fiery. He wanted to get him back for teasing, leaving Steve hanging. 

There  _ was _ one way he could get him back…

He watched the next hour tick by, keyed up and squirming, desperate to send another, but waiting for the assigned time. As soon as 2:58 hit he started snapping away. The best chosen and sent, he opened the picture himself and stared. One hand pulled his boxer briefs down, revealing his soft cock, his thumb extended towards the head suggestively, a hint of abs along the bottom of the image. Even he had to admit, it was pretty hot.

Ten minutes later, after still no reply, Steve was struck with a hot bolt of humiliation. God, Tony had that on his phone now and he could be anywhere. He could be in his office touching himself, or at a meeting. He could have left his phone in a drawer and seen none of them yet, or even given his phone to his assistant for the day. Steve flushed hot and heady at the idea. He could be showing them around, showing him off. And yet still no text back. Arousal and shame and frustration coiled around each other deep in Steve’s gut.

He wanted Tony to praise him for doing what he asked. He closed his eyes and imagined his phone chiming, a text:  _ good boy.  _ His cock swelled inside his underwear and he shifted on the lounger. One hand snaked down and rested lightly against his hardening cock. He usually tried to hold off and wait for Tony when he was at work, but he’d been given no command to; it was his choice. 

Almost of its own volition, his hand started to move, stroke. The ring of his thumb and forefinger catching on the head of his cock as he slid gently down the shaft and up again. He kept his eyes closed, imagined all the things Tony could text back, even as he flushed hot all the way down his chest at the thought.

_ Good boy. You’re so beautiful. Did you get hard thinking about me? Send me another one. You’re so good for me, Steve. _

The chiming of his alarm snapped him out of his daydream, stunned to find that another hour had gone while he fantasized. He was painfully hard, but his gentle strokes hadn’t quickened, and he was still far from release.

And Tony still hadn’t sent him a damn thing. His breathing hitched with a sudden rush of adrenaline at the thought that he could misbehave. Not send one this time. Send one late. Maybe that would get Tony’s attention. What would Tony do? Would he punish him? Continue to ignore him? But then when he got home…

He’d been good though, so good. And even if Tony wouldn’t acknowledge it, he knew he had been.  _ If you’re good, I’ll let you send me more.  _ He’d been good. He’d been good all day. His hand twisted over the head of his cock and he moaned. He shoved his underwear down his thighs and stroked in earnest now. At exactly 4pm he shot off a picture of his hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing, stroking up, a bead of precum forming on the slit. 

_ I’ll let you send me more. _

He’d been so good. At 4:05 he sent one of his toes curling into the cushion on the lounge chair. So good. 4:13 his hand around his cock again, moving fast this time, blurred as he jacked himself off hard now. God, it felt so good. 4:23 he sent his chest, pink and sweating from the sun and the heat building in his core, a bit of his chin barely visible at the top, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

His hand shook around the phone as his other moved faster on his cock, and he groaned. He scrolled through the pictures he’d sent, imagined Tony at work, desperately hard and trying to hide it from his coworkers. 

His pleasure wound tight in his gut, then as it released, he held his thumb down on the shutter button, hearing the rapid fire snapping as it immortalized his earth-shattering orgasm. 

4:31 a wildly angled picture of his stomach, streaked with come, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking through the waves of pleasure, his balls tight against the base, come still spilling from the head. In the background, out of focus, his knee bent, heel digging into the chair cushion.

Panting, half from the power of his orgasm, and half from the thrill of the images he’d just sent, he dropped the phone by his hip, then startled nearly off the seat when it started buzzing loudly. He looked down and his heart jump-skipped into double time.  _ Tony calling… _

He slid to answer, thrumming with electricity, the phone a live wire in his hand. Before he could speak Tony’s voice hissed through the phone, “Brat.”

Steve’s breath caught. “I - I was being good. I thought I deserved -”

“Oh, you did, did you? Even when you decided to tease me until I couldn’t resist calling you?” Tony drawled. “It’s not up to you though, is it?”

Steve bit his tongue when he had the urge to say  _ it worked though, you called me.  _

“I wanted to see what you’d send me next, but your beautiful cock ruined that plan. Are you hard again yet?” Commanding bite edged Tony’s words. Steve had already been working himself back up to it the second he’d heard Tony’s voice, but that tone sent several throbbing heartbeats of blood straight south.

“Nearly,” he gasped.

“Touch yourself. Slowly, softly, like I know you were doing at 4 o’clock.” Tony had been looking at the pictures. The thought punched a groan out of Steve. “Don’t you dare come again. I want you hard and desperate. Don’t speed up and don’t stop touching yourself.”

Steve obeyed, stroking until he was aching again. “Do you - do you want a picture?” he managed to get out between breaths.

“No. I want you to wait like that. I’m coming home to see for myself.”


End file.
